|
|
#
¿
Aug 22, 2013 04:07
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ Apr 26, 2024 12:42 |
|
|
poo poo just got real
|
|
#
¿
Aug 24, 2013 18:11
|
|
|
Jagermonster posted:In. gently caress you i was drinking in a pool for a week and a half But seriously I'll get that done today. Barbados owns btw
|
|
#
¿
Sep 9, 2013 16:19
|
|
|
sebmojo posted:I really enjoyed this one, though it could do with a few tweaks. The idea behind it is better and less cliche than Jagermonster's, and the execution is way better.  Martello posted:
Yeah this thing well dogs and dinner and honeymoons and whatever Capntastic posted:Professionalism Your little introductory paragraph is a little expospeaky, but it works here. It's just short enough that I don't get bored, and now I know what kinda dude Colaman is. Short fiction is where we have to find a balance between showing and telling. Sometimes a characters backstory is important enough to summarize, and you did that quite nicely. "Black Person Carrier" is either the most awesome name for a car or the worst. I think it's probably the worst. This is awesome: "two beefed up white guys with the neck veins and chrome look down solid" Starts to get a little too much into telling. It's sort of like a show/tell hybrid. It's tough because of the shorter word limit, but you could use a few concise descriptive sentences about the beefy white dudes staring him down and what the industrial neighborhood looked like. PDA is the stupidist thing, PDAs have been obsolete since last century. Say "phone" or "pad" or "tablet" or something. Seb already hit some of the other stuff I was gonna say. I'm gonna go ahead and disagree with him on the double twist, though, because I loving loved it. Totally didn't see it coming and it's funny as hell. It also fits the flash rule of "gets in trouble because of a lack of way with words." Overall this is a huge improvement on your "Hard Disk" story. Jagermonster posted:Cyborg Systa Settles a Score I like the "everyone meets in cyberspace" thing, very GitS. Woulda liked a little more description of the cyberworld, but maybe you didn't have enough  . You still could have said that the meeting place was "a void, because Montag thought it was intimidating" or whatever. The dialogue is plain, nobody has any voice to speak of until Gretchen turns into Systa. The story loses clarity halfway through. I get that the other dudes at the meeting are Montag's business associates or whatever, but who's Viscone? Is he Montag's boss? Was Systa one of Montag's whores but got burned half to death and is out for Kill Bill-style revenge? What's really going on here? You have some decent potential here, but like seb said it doesn't really go anywhere. REDUNDANT VERDICT I'll have to concur with the grizzled Kiwi here and give it to Capntastic. Jagermonster should have to buy a new av for Capn. Just sayin.
|
|
#
¿
Sep 11, 2013 02:09
|
|
CAPNTASTIC IS WINNER
THUNDERDUEL: 
|
In. Black River, NY. Also updated the archive post.
|
|
#
¿
Sep 20, 2013 16:50
|
|
|
Was gonna write a story about a dude who died while trying to save a kid who was drowning in the Black River (the river, not the town, and it actually happened), but it's loving with my head and I'm not doing it. So basically I'm a giant pussy bitch and strike my name of the list. OG or not, I still gotta toxx next time I want to enter, and I have to enter before I judge again.
|
|
#
¿
Sep 23, 2013 02:04
|
|
|
Purple prose is called that here, TV Tropes didn't come up with the term you loving weirdo. We also call it "stupid lovely fanfic writing."  tell us the winner so we can get a prompt, already in with a 
|
|
#
¿
Sep 30, 2013 16:26
|
|
|
A Mere Girl 1150 words Swanhild ven Tostell stood before the Grand Master’s chair in the great hall of the Order of the Blood Shed by Saint Hilda. The Grand Master himself sat silent while the Arms Marshall questioned her. “A Blood Knight? You want to be one of us?” Hrothlind’s laughter was easy, genuine, pleasant. Other Knights laughed too, not as pleasantly. Swanhild’s face went hot, and she clenched her fists. “Why not?” She held a up a hand. “The only militant order founded in honor of a female saint, and you won’t accept a woman applicant?” Hrothlind crossed his arms. “What would a militant order do with a mere girl?” “Saint Hilda the Bloody was a ‘mere woman.’ ” Swanhild glanced at the Grand Master, his granite face betraying nothing. She clenched her teeth and glared at Hrothlind. “But she was a tall brawny woman, bigger than some men. You’re a full foot shorter than I.” Hrothlind stepped close and put a hand on her shoulder. “Those wide hips were made for bearing children, those strong arms for carrying them. Not for swinging a sword.” The Arms Marshall’s eyes were kind as he looked down at Swanhild. “Go back to your lord uncle’s castle and let him find you a good husband.” Swanhild grunted. Then she struck like a hound at a deer. She seized Hrothlind’s wrist with one hand, his elbow with another, and turned her hips while yanking on his arm. Hrothlind went over her shoulder and landed on his back. A collective gasp went up from the assembled Blood Knights. Swanhild held his arm straight up, wrist and elbow locked. She smiled down at Hrothlind. “A mere girl just put you on your back, sir Knight.” Swanhild released his arm and helped him up. Hrothlind dusted himself off. “Where did you learn to do that?” His lips twitched, trying to hold back a smile. “After my father fell in battle and my mother donned the black frock, I was sent to my distaff uncle’s lands in Berona. An Anathian wrestling woman at his court taught me her arts.” Hrothlind shook his head. “I haven’t been put down like that in years, girl.” He looked at Gram, standing silently a few feet away. “You do vouch for your sister, Brother Gram?” “Indeed,” Gram said. “She can do more than wrestle; we sparred with practice swords as children, and she hasn’t stopped training.” The Arms Marshall turned to the Grand Master. “My lord, her application has much in her favor.” He counted on his fingers. “Brother Gram vouches for her character and skill at arms, her mother is a Widow of Mercy, and she swears she has never lain with a man nor touched smoke or strong drink.” He smiled. “And we all know now how she can wrestle. The only issue is her sex.” Varen Badenhather, Grand Master of the Order, nodded his bearded chin. “No woman ever wore the red cloak of our Order. But no woman has ever applied. The girl has a point - our order was founded in honor of a warrior woman. Why should we not take her as a novice?” The Quartermaster stepped forward. “My lord, it’s our tradition.” Varen held up his right hand, the first two fingers missing at the knuckle. “A tradition, but not a law. You saw how she threw the Arms Marshall. And if Brother Gram vouches for her sword skill, I believe him.” “I’m willing to train her,” Hrothlind said. “The Crusades are turning many of our would-be applicants to the Templars or the Knights of the Staff. Nobles still clash Marsend, creatures of darkness still stalk the night. New blades are needed.” The Grand Master nodded. “Then let her be trained.” # “Your guard is too high,” Hrothlind barked. Swanhild grunted as her brother thumped her ribs with his practice sword. Gram stepped back, sword again held low in Plow stance, pointed towards her throat. “Yes, Marshall.” Swanhild raised her blade into Roof stance again, this time not quite so high. Gram took a step and, this time, swung overhand. Swanhild snapped her left arm back and up, changing to Ox stance, her sword tip aimed at Gram’s face. His blade glanced off hers, and she stepped forward, smacked him on the neck with a diagonal downswing. “A deathblow!” Hrothlind shouted. He clapped his hands. “Very well done, Sister novice.” Swanhild smiled and ducked her head. Gram rubbed the welt already rising on his neck. “Soon enough, you’ll be ready to put the Marshall down again, this time with a sword.” “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Hrothlind said. He patted the pommel of his sword and squinted at Swanhild. “When we go blade-to-blade, I’ll be expecting it. Not like that sneaky throw on your application day.” Swanhild met Hrothlind’s eyes. “When?” “When you’re ready.” # Swanhild never beat Hrothlind on the practice grounds, but she fought well enough to take the cloak. A year and a month after Varen Badenhather accepted her application, Swanhild knelt before him in the chapel. Her brown novice’s surcoat had been replaced by a pure white robe. Her long dark hair hung brushed and unbound. Gram stood on one side of the altar, the Grand Master on the other. Swanhild bowed her head as Friar Oswin prayed over her ordination, asking God and his son Antidis to bless her sword and make her arms strong for war. Swanhild lifted her eyes just enough to look at the two wooden statues behind the altar. Antidis the Scion hung on the Holy Lixa, his upper arms impaled on the U-shaped prongs of the ancient Anathian gibbet. To his right and on a lower pedestal was Saint Hilda. The renowned leader and warrior woman was clad in mail and surcoat, a heavy single-edged langsax in her hand. Her left hand rose towards Antidis, pinky and forefinger extended in the sign of the lixa. Her eyes looked down towards the altar, and Swanhild imagined that she looked down on her now from Heaven. “Novice Swanhild ven Tostell,” the Grand Master said. “Do you swear on the name of the Holy Scion and the blood shed by the blessed hands of Saint Hilda, that you will defend Marsend from her own nobles, and fight the spawn of darkness, your blade in your hand until you die?” Audra raised her right hand in the sign of the lixa. “I do.” Gram stepped behind her and hung a crimson cloak around her shoulders. He pinned it at Swanhild’s throat, squeezed one shoulder, and stepped back to the altar. The Grand Master spoke again. “Rise, Sister Swanhild, Knight of the Order of the Blood Shed by Saint Hilda.” Saint Hilda had no daughters, only seven sons. Swanhild would be that daughter, in spirit and in blood shed by her sword.
|
|
#
¿
Oct 5, 2013 23:52
|
|
|
This poo poo is bannanas put me in
|
|
#
¿
Oct 8, 2013 11:18
|
|
|
Erogenous Beef posted:Martello: A Mere Girl (1150 words) You're too kind, it was one of my worst in a long time.
|
|
#
¿
Oct 9, 2013 12:42
|
|
|
|
|
#
¿
Oct 10, 2013 16:12
|
|
|
Infected hair follicle in my right hand spread to surrounding tissue, got it lanced. I can't type so I will have to finish and post tomorrow. Like a bitch.
|
|
#
¿
Oct 14, 2013 04:10
|
|
|
Muffin said til this thread is closed with the gross vulgar haiku so the fleshy curtains fold wetly around the prize a lovely rosebud small and shriveled though at times it rises long, hard a battering ram Are buttholes genitals? Sure round, puckered, just like the mouth of an old lady making GBS threads is pleasurable
|
|
#
¿
Jan 1, 2014 16:24
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ Apr 26, 2024 12:42 |
|
|
And now to close this thing. Realtalk, thanks to everyone who's been keeping Thunderdome running since I've been too busy with other stuff like writing actual stories to submit places, and work, and marriage, and two dogs and a kitten, and installing new bamboo floors, and blah blah. You guys are awesome. One more for the goldmine.
|
|
#
¿
Jan 1, 2014 16:26
|
|